


He's Nice

by orphan_account



Category: Fist Fight (2017)
Genre: Gender-neutral Reader, Groping, I Can't Write Porn Without Slight Plot Unfortunately, Inaccurate Descriptions Of Intoxication, Marijuana, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Andrew Campbell is too nice.First person reader. The reader is gender neutral, high school age, and may be a minor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatisTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatisTrash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sexual Experiments (Andy Campbell x Reader)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378608) by [KatisTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatisTrash/pseuds/KatisTrash). 



The clock ticks loudly underneath Mr. Campbell's lecture about popular philosophy and its ties to human culture. Normally, his voice is all it takes to make his lectures worth listening to but-- the words aren't really registering right now. Occasionally words filter through the indifferent haze, but none really coherent with each other.  
I feel terrible.  
But I’m not sure why.  
Shit, the classroom is quiet. Mr. Campbell is no longer talking, and the curtain is ripped away. My gaze is dragged away from the window, where a couple kids are smoking weed a story below this one. Ah, shit. Mr Campbell's reclining against his desk, staring… right at me. All the other students are murmuring to each other, their bags clearly packed, desks empty. Damn it, I’m the only person that isn't ready to get the hell out of here. Mr. Campbell’s eyebrow is cocked, looking at me analytically. He doesn't look angry, which is good, but his silence is making me increasingly uncomfortable.  
I shift it my seat, looking back at the clock above his head, which reads that there are less than thirty seconds left in class. When I look at him again, he’s no longer staring at me, opting instead to remind the class of tonight's assignment. The bell rings just as he finishes, and the students scramble out the door as fast as they can. I try to join them, but as I get a foot out into the hall his hand is on my shoulder and freedom seems far.  
He pulls me back into the room, and I turn to face him with resignation. I don't really have anywhere to be anyway, and spending a few more minutes with my favorite teacher isn't the worst way to spend my time. Of course I’m not looking forward to him scolding me, but I could look at his face and listen to him talk all day.  
“Are you doing okay?”  
I wasn't expecting that… What the hell do I say?  
“Does it matter?” is my automatic retort, to which I cringe. He’s just trying to be nice. His gaze softens before he speaks again.

“You can talk to me about anything, okay? I’m here to help with more than just your education.”  
My eyes widen, and before I can stop myself I’ve said it.  
“Do you wanna smoke weed with me in the bathroom?”  
Shit.  
He stares at me for five or six seconds, before replying,  
“What?”  
Shit, shit, shit. Mr. Campbell is a chill guy with a pretty wild history (fighting another teacher, getting arrested for planting drugs on said teacher, cursing out the principal and superintendent, threatening a student with physical violence, the list goes on) but it is extremely doubtful that he is chill enough to smoke weed with a student.  
“I’m really sorry, I don't know why I said that, I don't have drugs--,”  
He looks behind him before looking back at me with a serious expression. Then he says,  
“I’ve got time.”  
This guy is full of surprises.

The boys bathroom is empty, amazingly. Even the kid who is constantly jacking off to anime porn isn't anywhere to be seen. We pick the biggest stall, and I pull out my baggie of weed and a small bong. The bong isn't very fancy, made to be unremarkable. Easy to miss, and all that. Mr. Campbell is giving me that analytical look again as I unpack my materials, but I pretend not to notice and focus on what I’m doing. I really, really hope he isn't playing with me right now, pretending to uphold confidentiality before running off to the school board to report me. Sweat begins to bead at the small of my back and my actions become more hurried, fueled by anxiety. I am so hyper aware of his presence that when his hands take the bong and lighter from me I almost jump out of my skin.  
“I can do it.” my eyes finally meet his, and he’s smiling lightly. A reassurance that I’m not in any danger. I smile back gratefully, but then I realize that he has no idea how to prepare weed because he’s stuffed the weed down the neck off the pipe and is attempting to suck the weed out the other end. Jesus Christ, how is this guy still alive?  
I take the bong back from him, laughing belligerently. He returns my grateful look.

I’m pretty far gone at this point, having to have sat down due to dizziness about fifteen minutes ago. Mr. Campbell looks ridiculous.  
He’s obviously never been this high in his life, and it shows. His pupils are dilated, his eyes are drooping, and he won't stop giggling to himself. It’s really cute, reminding me of the first time I used this shit. I’d screamed for five minutes because I’d thought I was riding a rollercoaster, but I had been sitting inside a garbage bin outside my house. Screaming. It was probably hilarious. I’m glad he’s taking this better than I did.

I try to tell him that he’s doing well, but. A few words get lost in my brain and what I end up yelling is “DOING YOU WELL, YEAH?” to which he snaps his head in my direction, seemingly unaware that I am still next to him. He also seems to believe that the only form of communication that is still available is shouting, because he replies in an even louder tone,  
“WHO?”  
“YOU ARE NOT IN A GARBAGE CAN!”  
He nods quickly. This is good knowledge.  
I slump over onto him, intending to lean my head on his shoulder but missing by a mile and throwing my face into his chest. Oh, he smells nice. And his shirt is soft. Kind of sweaty, but it's cool. We all get sweaty from time to time.  
“Hello!” he says politely, “do you have an appointment?” Shit, do I?  
“No. Capitalism isn’t sexy, I don't believe in waiting.” I don't know what the hell I just said or why, but it vaguely makes sense in my head so it’s something that should be verbalized.  
I realize that I’ve drifted off when Mr. Campbell is poking me in my abdomen with all the authority of something... Unauthoritative. Is that a word? My head turns, and I find him looking at me so kindly that my teeth are hurting. What a sweet guy. Dude smokes weed in the bathroom with his student, then lets said student take a nap on his chest. Really, he’s the hero we don't deserve. I want to thank his mother.

Instead, I pat his face without saying anything, and put my mouth around the impressed part of his pants, right between his legs. He freezes up instantly. Unaware, I press my tongue down, circling his penis in a way that could be pleasurable. I can feel him rise in my mouth, and a hand is against the back of my head. Instead of pushing me down, however, it gently pulls me away. Confused, I look up, seeing his expressionless face looking back at me. Shit, he’s really, really pretty. I want to kiss him, but he didn't seem too happy about me going down on his dick, so he probably isn't enthused about me kissing him either.  
Ohh, damn, I should've kissed him before going for his dick. Of course. That's just good etiquette. I was getting ahead of myself.

The will to come onto him returns, filling me with determination. I put my hand on his knee and launch forward, catching his lips in mine. He gasps in surprise, allowing me to stick my tongue in his mouth. His facial hair is scratchy and endearing, his lips soft and thin, his skin warm and freckled. He is unresponsive while I move my lips against his, and he jerks when I grab at his clothed dick again. I breathe him in, feeling his cock solidify underneath my fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes are so wide. He looks frightened, like a foal, almost afraid of enjoying this. Despite my efforts, his hand is on top of mine and he shoves me to the floor; he looks frustrated, but I am going to make this go my way at any cost.

My knee is between his legs in seconds, rubbing his dick intensely. I can't say that I know what I'm doing, but I want his dick and I will get his dick. He gasps and moans involuntarily- this is my chance. I flip our positions. Shit, he's so warm. I press our bodies together and replace my knee with my hand, using the other to hold down his shoulder. My hand slips down his pants and- finally- grasps his cock. It's completely hard, to my delight, and his shaky moan when I wrap my fist around it makes me look back at him. His eyes are almost closed and his pupils are huge, and the look he gives me is enough to encourage me to see this through.

"Ah-" I catch his moan in my mouth, pressing my knee back into his crotch as I cradle his face in my hands. He thrusts upwards, and I turn to kiss his throat. I want to jack him off, I really do, but I also want to savor this. He's just so damn sweet.

"Please- please," his voice surprises me, and I stop peppering his neck to look at him. His words are raspy and he looks desperate and shit, I'm not giving him much to work with, am I?

"Okay," I say softly, before kissing his mouth and moving my whole body down to his abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these chapters are so short, this isn't really my top priority. I did some research for this chapter (porn) and I didn't get the chance to incorporate anything (porn) because it ends like the last one (almost porn). I hope I'll get (porn) in the next update.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this purely because the author of the only Fist Fight fic on AO3 may like another one. I don't really have any intention of this being completed, but I can finish it, if you want.


End file.
